


A Good Start

by silverbook



Series: Redemption [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Ficlets, Gen, M/M, Not Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Season 2 Compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2020-10-19 23:17:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20665445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverbook/pseuds/silverbook
Summary: Redemption Epilogue FicletsA series of epilogue short one-shots and ficlets in the Redemption universe.





	1. A Good Start

The team was less openly hostile towards him now, and he could only call that an improvement. He had reached a sort of neutral truce state with most of them, but the atmosphere would still change whenever he entered. He couldn’t blame them for this, and he didn’t expect anything more. Ever. Not even in the hopefully not too distant future where he aims to have proven himself trustworthy, he wasn’t expecting anything more than neutral professional attitude.

Ward continued to have lessons with Coulson when he had the time. But he did not really leave his room (cell) except to visit the lab and offer his services. He has been added to the chore roster soon after what he was deeming his probationary period had started, and he did whatever he was assigned-cooking, cleaning etc without complaint, and with as little interaction as possible. 

Coulson and May were perfectly professional, but perhaps lacked the slight warmth that used to be sensed behind their demeanour. Post-the Battle he had reached a sort of truce with May, and they had resumed their former training routine. But she made no overtures of anything beyond that, and he knew she was keeping a close eye on him. 

Skye was still struggling and confused about how to deal with him, but taking her cue from May, as her mentor, and was focusing on being professionally distant around him. She endured his probationary status, but did not spend time in the same room as him if at all possible. He accepted this as his due, and tried to facilitate this by eating in the kitchen, or his room, whenever possible. 

Jemma was cautiously kind, though at times lightly cool towards him, and he tried to give her space then. But she would always acknowledge him, even just with a nod as she passed by. But Fitz would sometimes seek him out outside of the lab, would come and sit next to him in the communal area, in the corner he had claimed as his, well away from the others, and he would converse with him, fingers flying away in front of him. 

He had unrestricted access to his old room, and all the common areas (though he knew it would be all too easy to confine him to his room if needed). He was allowed in the training area with May (and he presumed Coulson, though this had not occurred)- a smart move as it occupied the same area as the vehicles. Jemma and Fitz could let him in to the lab if they so chose. He was not allowed in the cockpit, naturally. 

He was part of the normal routine on the Bus again, and yet not. He felt isolated, and rightly so, from the team. He continued to offer his services to FitzSimmons in their lab; holding things in place, passing and fetching tools, cleaning up, sorting things. Anything that was within his capabilities. It was part of his penance-not just to offer his services in some small part to make their life easier, but also to be there, in the place where he had betrayed them, gaze upon their faces, and never ever forget what he had done. Sometimes they turned him away when he turned up at their door-whether they had nothing for him to do, or perhaps because he could not be trusted with what they were working on. Or perhaps they didn’t want to be reminded themselves by seeing his face. On those days he found himself at a loss.


	2. Stumbling Blocks

“How can they learn to trust you again if you remain in here all the time?” Coulson asked during one of their infrequent ASL lessons.

Ward allowed himself to fiddle with the pencil before answering. [May sparring. FitzSimmons help.] he replied without conviction. 

“And Skye?”

Ward ground his teeth in frustration at his limited vocabulary. He wanted to say: “Skye’s hurt when she sees me. I don’t want to make it worse.”

[Make worse] he settled for, eventually. 

“Yes, you probably will at first.” Coulson acknowledged. “But both of you need to get past this, and come to some understanding, if you’re to remain on the team. Redemption doesn’t come easy, Ward.”

Ward scoffed internally. As if he didn’t know that.

But he pushes himself into venturing out into the common areas where once he existed freely, and now feels like he is intruding. He stays in the room when they’re all eating dinner, at the opposite end of the room from Skye, and endures her glares. Fitz helps him clear away when it’s his turn, and sometimes coaxes him to sit in a corner with him and chat afterwards. He likes it best when he has the common area to himself, and he can curl up in one of the corner armchairs and read one of the novels they keep there. Sometimes he can even pretend everything is like it was before. Sometimes they come in when he’s there and he can watch them interact before he is spotted, and it’s like nothing has changed up until that moment. 

He comes back out into the common area one evening, after dinner has finished and been cleared away, and is surprised to see everyone, but Coulson and May, sitting there, clearly about to start a movie. He hesitates just outside his room, but Fitz spots him, and beckons him over. He’s cautiously heading over to sit near to Fitz, when Skye speaks up. 

“You’re not seriously going to let him join us?” Her disdain for him dripping in every syllable. He stops moving towards them, and resigns himself to going back to his empty room, and overhearing snatches of the film, and laughter, through the door. Jemma looks sorry for him, but is clearly not willing to fight Skye over this. He’s turning away when Fitz speaks up. 

“Yes. He is.”

“I don’t trust him.”

“I trust him.” he retorts. And Ward, even now, starts in surprise to hear it.

“How can you trust him? He dropped you in the ocean. He betrayed us all.” 

Skye and Fitz are now both standing up and facing off against each other. Ward is frozen, unsure what to do, what he can do that won’t make the situation worse. 

“He apologised to us.” Jemma pipes up out of the blue, taking a side, and surprising Ward. He knew she had slightly warmed to him, and was more friendly than Skye, but she had remained fairly neutral outside of the lab so far, keen to keep the peace, and maintain team unity.

“To you! Not to me!” Skye bursts out.

“You wouldn’t let him!” Fitz shoots back, but with understanding.

Ward is suddenly between them, pushing Fitz back away from Skye. He makes the sign for sorry, whilst also mouthing the words, holding eye contact with Skye, who looks startled, but unwilling to back down. He holds eye contact long enough, he hopes, to send the message that he is sincere, then turns to face Fitz. 

[Too soon. Another time.] he pauses, then signs [Thank you. Don’t defend. Deserve.] 

Fitz is frowning at him, but Ward goes back to his room, and sees Skye also leaving to hers. He sits on his bed, and doesn’t answer the hesitant knock he hears at his door.


	3. Deep Breaths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _ He’s running, running down an endless corridor. At the end he can see the ripples in the water where something had dropped, growing fainter and fainter. Somehow he knows that if he could only make a sound, he can rescue them. _

Ward wakes up screaming, but it’s silent. Stuck. He struggles for breath-his body temporarily forgetting his limited supply of oxygen is normal now. 

It feels like there is something permanently lodged in his throat, blocking his air. His throat spasms in an attempt to dislodge the non-existent blockage, and he coughs, and wheezes, until it seems like he’s hacked up what feels like half a lung, and he can’t catch his breath. 

He can’t.

He can’t breathe.

Every breath is like sandpaper and it never seems to make it fully down to his lungs. 

He stays as still as he can, afraid of starting another coughing fit. His breath rasps in and out, catching in his throat. 

Normally, he is used to his reduced airflow, and his body automatically compensates for it, but now, in the dark, fresh out of a nightmare, his breath has been stolen from chest, and he doesn’t know how to get it back. 

As he’s sitting there, upright in bed, hands braced on the mattress, there’s a faint knock at his door.

He makes his way off the bed, and heads to the door, one fist held against his chest to feel the rise and fall. Shuddering with the effort of forcing air into his lungs.

When he opens the door he finds Fitz standing there-he’s not in pyjamas, so he probably hasn’t made it to bed yet-coming from a late-night session in the lab. 

_[Okay?]_ he inquires. Ward hesitates, then shakes his head. 

[Breathe. Hard.] he signs without vigour. Reluctant to remove his fist from his chest, in the mistaken belief that if he can’t feel it rising, it won’t.

_[Help?]_

[Nothing. Wait.]

Fitz misinterprets, perhaps purposefully, as if _he_ should wait, and shepherds him back into his room. Ward lets him, too exhausted to really try and understand what’s happening. Somehow they both end up sitting side by side on Ward’s bed, backs against the headboard. 

Fitz then pulls out a music player from his pocket and sets them up with an earphone each. The soothing tones of Stephen Fry’s voice come through into his ear. He sits there, feeling his chest rise and fall against his clenched fist, skipping a beat every so often, but gradually calming down to normal rhythm. The warmth of Fitz’s body next to his radiates out like a blanket.

His mind blanks out, and he loses time as the interrupted sleep begins to catch up with him, now that the panic is fading away. He jerks when he feels a touch on his shoulder. He looks down, and Fitz’s head has slipped half off from where it has fallen in sleep. He looks exhausted-giant purple circles under his eyes again. With a sleepy grumble, Fitz readjusts himself against Ward’s side, and Ward stares down at the top of his head, not sure how he has ended up this situation.


	4. Paradigm Shift

He had too much respect for their own skills to overtly protect Coulson and May- and a healthy fear of May’s reaction- but he still kept an eye out for any weak points or momentary falters he could cover for them. He still watched their backs.

Skye did not let him shadow her, and in the end he was satisfied that May, as her mentor, was enough protection, and settled for watching her back from a distance. But it had been his original assignment on the Bus to protect FitzSimmons- the more civilian-types on the team-the less field experienced- and so he took up that role again, and back in the field concentrated his efforts on being a shield between them and any dangers they might encounter. The rightness of this act, and the irony was also not lost on him, felt like he was doing penance, doing some small thing to make up for his actions. 

He knew that they found it annoying- as they had in the beginning- though Jemma was too English to let him know. Fitz had no such compunction these days in letting him know he was hovering. He didn’t realise how worried they actually were (or that they could in fact be worried about him) until Coulson came to speak to him, after the third time he got hurt protecting them- this time from an arrow of all things, heading for Fitz- on their behalf. They were apparently worried he had a death wish, and was valuing their lives over his own. 

“I wanted you back on this team to help you grow into a better person, not to use you as cannon fodder to protect the others. Don't throw away your life.” Coulson had lectured him in his sickbed. Then he had assigned him bout time with May- “to help exercise your self-preservation skills, so you remember how to use them out in the field.”- given him a stern injunction to talk to FitzSimmons, as well as a promise to talk again about finding a clearance-level therapist and organising secure sessions for him. He’d also apologised for not finding him one sooner, an action that left Ward speechless. 

The whole thing left him confused, and trying to rework his world view, yet again. Wasn’t it his job to go down, protecting those he was assigned to? Wasn’t that what he had been trained to expect?

_[Arrow would hit my leg only.]_ Fitz scolded later when he came to visit. _[Not fatal. Why catch with your shoulder?]_

_[Idiot.]_ he signed for good measure. 

[I protect you.]

_[What good you dead? How protect dead? Don’t do again. Ever.]_

[Got lecture before. Coulson.] Ward signed, resigned. [Can’t promise. Will try.]

_[Try hard. Or else.]_ Fitz attempted to look threatening, and only succeeded in looking adorable. Not that Ward would ever tell him so.


End file.
